The house of God

It was colorful and it was illicit. In an on?call room of the House where we were not supposed to be, the Runt and I awaited the others. Halfway snickered on bourbon and beer, dressed in a House nightie with a wig to make me look like a gomer, I lay on the bottom bunk while the Runt babbled about pubescence and hooked me up to a cardiac monitor. As the monitor flashed its green BLEEP into the red?lighted room, I thought that all we'd need was a yellow blinker and Chuck would think he was back home on a street corner in Memphis. When I'd told Berry that Dr. Sanders had died, she'd asked, Where is he? and I'd said, He's only in us, and I'd thought of how his life had fluttered round me like a butterfly in dying autumn, chilled, beating against my lashes, frantic, calling me to still the birth of winter. What had been in my, father's latest letter?

. . . Winter is coming and you are undoubtedly becoming accustomed to the hours and the stresses. You have a great opportunity to learn medicine and start dealing with people . . .

There was a knock at the door, and then two more, which was our code. There; in nursing uniform, were Angel and Molly. I watched Thunder Thighs throw her arms around the Runt and kiss him. He seemed embarrassed, and she said, "Hi"?gesture toward the Runt "the Runt. Howthehellareya?"

"Hello, Angie Wangie," said the Runt shyly.

Angie Wangie took his hand and put it under her skirt, cupping it around her?stormy ass. The Runt looked at Molly, wondering how she would take this ope

. . . You will look back on this period of hard work and the experience will stay with you for life, for who else but man would do it? . . .

Restrained, struggling, I was to be given an alcohol sponge bath. I struggled enough to rip open Molly's dress almost to her waist, and I reveled, as they pushed me down again, in her glossy yet transparent French bra that flowed like silk over iced nipples, the kind of bra that lets breasts jiggle as they stroll down the Champs Elysees so the horny Americans can gape. Asking how long were her nipples, I began to be a gomer with an erection. They started to sponge me, with Angel discreetly covering my risen rod and my happily bounding balls. I saw both the Runt and Angel ogling Molly's breasts, and I thought that the third toothbrush might just be Molly's, why not? The stimulation was intense?tied down, helpless, with two half?naked women bathing my hot in vaporous alcoholic cool that rolled me back toward the fevers of childhood. My BLEEPS rose like a skyrocket to about 110, and with my impending explosion the Runt dragged Angel away.

Heaven. Molly sponged me up and down, kissing me lightly but not letting me out of the restraints, and every time she came near I'd make a motion to get at her, and my BLEEPS went to 130. She passed the damp sponge up and down against the corpus spongiosum , the erectile tissue on the underside of my penis, and then began to nibble and nip and nosh and suck, cradling my testes like eggs in a velvet glove. I begged her to let me out of the restraints, but she kept giving me these little bites and fondles. Well, that was it. Up and down and bites and boobs, and just before I blasted off she slipped out of her dress, took down her panties, straddled my face, her lips on my penis again. My olfactory lobe seized up and our machine, spewing camshafts hubcaps and racheted gears slammed out into the wild blUE YONDERRR!!

. . . Political news is overwhelming with Nixon a maniac liar and I hope he will get it but good…

We lay with each other until the bleeper had detumesced down onto the scale and was breathing a bit easier, and then she got up. She kissed me and slipped out through the curtain. She came back and I asked her to let me out of the restraints now for Chrissakes. Saying nothing, she started back in on my cock and soon it wasn't weeping anymore but standing up straight singing a good Old Testament?fashioned Maccabean Army Song and she straddled me and took the tip of it and put against that midget helmsman in her rowboat, her clitoris. Electric sparks slashed the dark and her snuggling labiae embraced me and let me squishysquish on in. At that point I decided, Oh, what the hell, if I'm going to be a gomer, except for my putt I'll be a gomer, and I relaxed. She moved around on me slowly, rhythmically, as only women, laced into their rhythms, can move, and then, starting to go off, bent down to me.

"Angel?"

"Roy."

"Roy!"

"Angel."

. . . Hope you are your usual self and not working too hard . . .

"I thought I'd"?gesture toward sky?"thank you for"?gesture toward curtain?"sending me"?gesture toward floor?"the Runt."

So she did by moving up and down and making little noises that I didn't hear too well and as she sat up and grabbed the springs of the underside of the top bunk she said with gestures more than with words how this was like making love on a night train in Europe, and she bounced around like a kid in a jungle gym, and then she stopped.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"I think there's someone"?gesture toward heaven-"up there."

We listened, and sure enough there was:

"Oh Jesu Jesu Chuckie HAAY?ZUUUU?"

Thunder Thighs untied me, and as soon as my arms and legs were free I wrapped every one of them around her with me inside her and outside her all at once and then like a gomer who'd gotten the Ponce de Leon Rejuvenation Treatment?a Fat Man scenario??I rolled her over on her back and really started doing what a crude person might call fuck and as I bashed away like a Leon I thought of smashing the Leggo in the nose and then Angel started groaning and saying something that sounded, without gestures, like Fuck my cunt baby fuck my cunt and the BLEEPS shot off the scale again and my coronary arteries got all pinched and protesting and BAM BAM BAMMmmmm there it was again.

. . . Hope you are well and we will get to see you soon . . .

Later, with all of us more or less huddled and humming nice tunes and Chuck singing "There's a moone out too?night" while we hummed the "Dooo?wahhs" there was a knock on the door.

"A raid!" screamed Hazel.

But there were two more knocks, and there was Selma, who said, "Sorry I'm late, kids," and joined in. Things melded. I remember seeing the Runt cuddling in Selma's lap, and also Molly and Angel and Selma snuggling together, and as I floated in a sea of friendly genitalia feeling this and poking that, I thought that the third toothbrush could have been male or female and that these women were more liberated than any of us and more fun, and right at the end we all remarked upon what a nice party and sang in a sort of tickertape dulcissimo:

WHAT A GRAND GOOD?BYE, TO THAT COLORFUL GUY

THE SEXUAL ***MVI***, DOCTOR ROY G. BASCH.